Hidden So Deep in a Heart So Open
by gottabefree
Summary: Have you ever looked at your best friend and realized you don't know anything about them? Espo has.


Have you ever looked at your best friend and realized you don't know anything about them?

Espo has.

The realization happened one night. It was raining, in a completely cliché way, and it was nearing Christmas. The whole precinct had a tired feel to it and yet a buzzing tension simmered beneath the floorboards as they waited for the inevitable Christmas crime spree to rear up and bite the holiday festivities in the ass.

Esposito had just arrived home, grabbed some cold pizza and a bottle of beer from the fridge and collapsed on his couch. He was about to turn on the TV and lazily flick through the channels for the remainder of the evening when the doorbell rang.

By the time he'd dragged himself off the sofa and opened the door, it had rung four more times and he was pissed off, certain it was his crazy 70-year-old neighbour trying to set him up with another girl again "because a nice, young man like you needs to be thinking about a family at your age". It had been two week since the last dating disaster and she'd never waited this long before.

So, naturally, when he opened the door after the doorbell rang for the sixth time, he had a scowl that would make any gargoyle proud plastering his face.

When his eyes focussed on the sight framed by his doorway, his scowl evaporated on the spot and was replaced with the worried frown that always appeared when Ryan was in any kind of trouble.

Because Ryan was clearly in trouble, why else would he be standing there, rain plastering his gel-less hair to his head (and that alone worried him) and slightly swaying, probably due to some strong alcohol if the smell surrounding him was anything to go by. His eyes were haunted and pleading with Esposito like he'd been running for years and the memories he'd been escaping had finally cornered him and toppled his whole world down.

He'd let him in without a word. Guided him to the couch. Removed his soaking jacket and shoes and covered him with a blanket.

That was an hour ago. Now, Esposito is almost guarding his partner as he sits on the chair closest to the couch, waiting for Ryan to sleep off the alcohol and memories.

And it's right now, as he studies Ryan's sleeping face, that he realizes he doesn't know a thing about his partner because if he did, he'd know what had caused this sudden spiral.

Obviously he knows the little things, small details that no one else knows because no one else has noticed. Only someone who spends as much time with the Irishman as he does would know that when Ryan finds a case particularly tricky, he'll cock his head to the right to try and make sense of it while biting his bottom lip , the little frown lines will appear and he'll hum quietly as he puzzles over it.

He knows Ryan's favorite beer and can order it without being asked. He knows subconsciously when Ryan needs something stronger instead, to burn away the case instead of washing it down and he'll be the one who'll stay sober to make sure Ryan makes it home alright and doesn't end up slurring on some street corner. It's unlikely and never happened before, but then again Esposito has never allowed it to happen.

He knows the bit in Call of Duty that Ryan always dies in, the bit where he'll go silent and his eyes will narrow in concentration, tongue slightly out and then as his character dies again, he'll swear -but quietly because he kind of expects it- and sigh in frustration as he hands the controller over to Esposito wordlessly because they both know he's the better player.

Esposito knows the hand Ryan prefers to hold the phone in (it's his right hand). The way he'll always pace or move in some way when he's on the phone, completely forgetting that his gestures are lost on the other person. The exact way he leans back into his chair and slaps one foot over the other -left over right- onto the desk while smirking a self-satisfied grin.

He knows where Ryan keeps his spare key, has used it after driving him back after a night of celebrating. He doesn't really need it though as he's got a key of his own, right next to his own home key. Esposito knows which drawers Ryan's clothes go in as he's helped put him into bed when he's been wasted previously, nodding absently at the non-sensical babble that his partner spouts and drunkenly believes is so important that he needs to know _right this second_.

Esposito knows which cupboard the spare toilet paper is kept in because he's been over enough times that it's bound to have run out more than once. Ryan's also got a spare toothbrush in the drawer to the right of the sink which is just for him, for when Madden nights overrun and Esposito's own home seems so far and not nearly homely enough compared to here. They're both completely comfortable in each other's homes because they spend half their free time in the other's homes.

He knows Ryan's favorite takeout. It's Chinese, obviously. Ryan loves moo shu pork, can't get enough of the stuff. He'll always beg Esposito for some of his once he's eaten his own. The amount he's had doesn't matter; he'll still want more. And every time Ryan turns those big blue puppy eyes on him, Esposito finds himself handing over the takeout box, grumbling and stabbing for some sweet and sour chicken instead.

Esposito knows that he's Ryan's emergency contact. He's been called down to the hospital before, the news never failing to cause him to gasp like he's stepped into a cold shower and his veins freeze, blood stopping, heart stuttering as his eyes drift off and the world fades to the worst case scenarios full of blood and pain and caskets being lowered draped with the American flag.

He knows the big things too. Esposito knows where Ryan went to school, can recite almost as many memories as Ryan himself because he's been told them so frequently, it's almost like he was there too, partners in crime instead of partners in law enforcement.

Esposito's met all of Ryan's girlfriends; he's covertly done background checks on all of them because they've got each other's backs in every area and Esposito knows Ryan is a magnet to all things dangerous. He's defended Ryan against any bullshit he's heard at the precinct. He quashed any rumors that arose when Ryan's gun was found to have caused the death of Jane Herzfeld and helped his partner through the subsequent days, wafting away the sparks of self-doubt although the blame was unshiftable in Ryan's opinion. And Ryan's defended him too, whenever Ike Thornton is mentioned, Ryan will fly into defensive mode, shooting out the facts and threatening to disembowel anyone who tries to blur those facts.

Esposito knows his partner's family like he knows his own. He's been to most of the Ryan family gatherings and they have a rota of whose family they go to for each and every holiday (although St. Patrick's day is definitely a Ryan family event every year; Esposito wouldn't miss a game of leprechaun tossing for the world, unfortunately for his vertically-challenged partner). If Ryan mentions a relative, Esposito will immediately know the relation to Ryan, Ryan's opinion of them as well as several funny stories, many of which are actually memories.

Ryan's mom treats him as another son, her second amongst handfuls of girls. There's an absurdly high ratio of girls to boys in the Irish detective's family, and it's this fact that Esposito reckons is to blame for Ryan's lack of masculinity and neat 3 piece suits, sweater jumpers and endless combination of ties and socks.

But yes, Esposito receives cookies and presents (not to mention at least one endless chain email a day that you must scroll down for a full 30 seconds just to get to an actual message which is usually photos of baby animals or an inspiring message about Jesus) from Ryan's mother just as often as Ryan himself. Personally, he thinks Ryan gets the better end of the deal as Esposito's own mother sends both boys meals through the post at least once a week, and his mother makes some mean fajitas.

Esposito knows all the little things, the everyday habits and gestures and smiles and words. He knows the big events: his childhood, his family, his friends. But there are some things he doesn't know about Ryan. And he knows those are the important things. The things he should know as Ryan's partner and brother.

Esposito doesn't know why Ryan became a cop. Every cop has a story. Some dramatic, some sad, some personal and some, like Beckett, were driven by a need to find justice and closure for others that their family had never got. Every cop has one event that hit them in their heart, fuelling their passion for the badge and swelling their hearts with pride when they salute the American flag. He'd heard so many different varieties; every cop, himself included, shared their story with pride except Ryan. He'd asked before but the subject would always change so smoothly it was only hours later when he was throwing his keys, gun and badge on the counter and rewinding the events of the day that he'd realize he'd never gotten his answer.

He didn't know where the long thin scars that shatter Ryan's back like glass that's not-quite-broken are from. They shimmy down from his neck to his waist, silvery white and old, but still so prominent.

He'd first spotted them when Ryan had been changing after a workout at the gym together and he'd taken off his sweaty white t shirt to replace it with a clean one displaying a marvel superhero or something equally geeky. And Esposito had seen them, displayed on Ryan's back in a gruesomely permanent way: at least thirty long snaking lines spreading in all directions, straight and long and menacing. He hadn't been sure how he'd never seen them before, now they seemed so obvious that every time Ryan took his shirt off, his eyes were drawn to them, eyes tracing the maze that shouldn't exist on his partner's back.

Once Ryan had caught him staring. He'd frozen, blue eyes wide and panicked like a driver who'd been expectantly caught in another's high-beams on a dark, lonely road. Esposito had opened his mouth to release the liquid questions that were threatening to trickle out of his mouth with or without his permission when Ryan slammed his locket shut and slid a shirt over his body so quickly Esposito was surprised the friction didn't cause his shirt to catch fire. He exited quickly, mumbling how he was beat and wasn't going to meet him at the bar tonight, sorry, see you tomorrow.

The next day Ryan had shown up at eight o'clock on the dot, smelling slightly of alcohol and cigarettes. He'd been consumed with energy and chattering non-stop about everything and yet nothing, almost anxiously cheerful and not a word was mentioned about the scars that danced across his back.

Esposito never saw the scars again because Ryan never changed with his back to him again. And although nothing was said, Esposito felt like a bit of the infallible trust Ryan had of him had been weathered away.

Esposito doesn't know why Ryan hates a certain song. He doesn't know the name of it, he barely knows the tune and can't ask his partner because that would break the unspoken rule of don't-bring-this-up, a rule that Esposito only recently realized exists and is being applied more and more frequently.

It's happened a few times, when they're in the car and driving to a crime scene and one of them flicks on the radio. Talking will fill the car, reducing the radio to background noise. Esposito will even forget it's there; he's too absorbed in the conversation. He could never identify a single song that played once they arrive. So when Ryan's eyes suddenly glossed over and his breathing went ragged, Esposito barely had time to register that the opening bars of a new song were playing before a pale hand killed the power. The radio shut off. Silence in the car.

"You okay, bro?" he asked tentatively, throwing worried glances at Ryan as he concentrated on finding a place –any goddamn place would do- to pull over so he could check on his partner who was taking deep breathes.

"Keep driving, 'm fine," Ryan replied shakily, giving a jerky nod. Esposito was not fooled in the slightest.

"Like hell you are. Look I'll pull-"

"Javi, I'm fine! Seriously, it was just a shock. We're going to be late if you stop. I swear I'm okay," Ryan said calmly and steadily, still sucking in deep breathes. He didn't meet Esposito's worried gaze. Both pretended not to notice Ryan's clenched fists or the tightness in his jaw.

Esposito had reluctantly agreed and they'd continued down the loud streets of New York in silence. Ryan had been distant for the remainder of the day and refused to say what had bothered him. That first time, Esposito hadn't connected that the song -whatever song it was- had triggered the minor panic attack. When the same thing had happened several times, he knew what caused these panic attacks. And yet he didn't know _why_ because Ryan refused to talk about it.

Esposito knew Ryan had nightmares. Sometimes when Ryan crashed at his or he crashed at Ryan's he could hear the muffled shouts through the walls. He'd seen his partner twisting and turning in his sleep, eyes scrunched up and mouth begging and mumbling. He'd woken his partner up multiple times, seen the agonizing fear in his eyes and kept a comforting hand on his shoulder, grounding him as he adjusted to reality. He didn't know what was in those nightmares. He never asked and Ryan never offered to tell.

It wasn't unusual for cops to have nightmares, he had plenty of his own. But from the words he'd been able to understand from Ryan's frantic muttering and yelling, they didn't relate to any case or memory he could think of. The horde of memories that Ryan was shrouded in during the night were from the same locked corner of his mind as the scars and the song.

When he'd been searching for some Advil a couple of months ago, he'd instead found sleeping pills in Ryan's bathroom cabinet, the strong ones which you need a prescription for and which doctors hesitate in prescribing. They were half empty. He'd stared at them for a while, slightly in shock, before carefully replacing the bottle and hearing the pills rattle along with his shaking hand. Esposito had leant his head back against the wall, eyes closed and face turned to the ceiling. Those pills should not be there. Those pills were physical evidence that something was wrong with his partner. Those pills proved that something had happened to his partner that he had not yet come to terms with. And Esposito could only guess what using the few clues Ryan had dropped.

Yes, Kevin Ryan was open and honest. He was the cheerful, slightly dorky detective that everyone loved and saw as their kid brother. The innocent one who the team tried to shield from the bad, dark world, the one whose safety was worried about the most because he was the smallest and youngest and had that vulnerable vibe that criminals could just sense.

But Esposito knew that for all of Ryan's truthfulness and willingness to share, he also had skills in performing evasive manoeuvres in conversation and seeking out loopholes in questions. There were secrets Ryan kept stitched to his heart that he was never going to share with Esposito until he was ready.

So when Ryan wakes up in the morning to the taunting smell of coffee and bacon, Esposito knows immediately by the wary look on his face that no, today isn't going to be the day where Ryan opens up and asks for help or support or whatever he needs from Esposito.

"I know why you're here," Esposito states seriously as he leans forward in the chair he's been in all night so his mocha eyes are level with his partner's icy blue ones. Ryan's eyes take on a panicked look and flicker quickly towards the door. Esposito grins "It's because you realized your system doesn't make sense."

"My system is efficient," Ryan responds automatically, face flushing with gratitude and relief as he grabs the lifeline Esposito had just offered. Last night swiftly disappears into the murky territory of we're-not-going-to-mention-it as both men stand up and head to the kitchen for coffee and bacon, discussing the absurdity of Ryan's filing system.

And although it kills Esposito to have seen his brother so lost and broken the night before, he wasn't going to pry. If Ryan wants him to distract him from the dark thoughts and whispers in his mind with this charade, then hell, he'd do just that. And when Ryan is finally ready to give words to whatever actions he'd suffered through, Esposito would be right by his side. Because they're partners and they always have each other's backs. And that rule still applied even outside the job.

* * *

**A/N: Phew, that took a while to crank out. I had to "research" this one by rewatching Castle episodes to get some of the facts right (yes, he holds the phone in his right hand and crosses his feet left over right. I'm sad I know). Oh the hardships of writing.**

**Please leave a review and tell me what you thought of it (if you want, say what you think happened to Ryan, I'm interested in what you guys thought). I'm tempted to leave it as a one-shot, I think it's more dramatic but if anyone wants me to continue... review? I've got some multi-chapter stories in the works and I'm hoping to get those up soon. Merry Christmas everyone!**


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